What's Left of Me
by distortedpoetry
Summary: "You slaughtered a bunch of Wardens—a quarter of my regiment, to be exact—and murdered a group of templars along with them. Why would you do such a foolish thing! And most importantly, how?" Warden-Commander Kiera Surana wants answers from the apostate that was once her companion.


**Author's Note**: This is something I wrote once upon a time ago, but it fell to the wayside because of my million other writing projects. I stumbled across it again in the depths of my documents folder and decided I'd give it a bit of a makeover/edit. So now, here it is: A little piece I wrote to allow myself an understanding of the relationship between Anders and one of my Wardens during the events of DAII. Takes place approximately sometime during the second Act.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Dragon Age. All characters, places, etc. belong to their respective copyright holders. I am not gaining profit from the writing of this fan fiction.

* * *

**What's Left of Me**

By

distortedpoetry

* * *

Anders took a drink from his mug and sighed, staring at the door of Varric's room in the Hanged Man expectantly. A hand placed itself on his shoulder and he jumped, whipping around to face whomever it belonged to.

"Geez, Blondie. Why so jumpy?"

It was the dwarf himself, grinning coolly at the surprised apostate.

"Oh, Varric," Anders said, taking another swig from his mug. "It's just you."

"_Just _me? I'm hurt." He pulled up a chair and sat next to him. "What's gotten your robes all in a tussle this evening? Templars putting another annoying kink in your mage operations?"

"When are they not?" Anders put the glass container down on the table. "But that is beside the point. I'm actually expecting... company."

Varric arched an eyebrow. "Company, eh? The good kind, I hope."

The mage let out a sigh, leaning back slightly in his chair. "Well, if it's who I think it is, she won't be happy with me."

"Can't imagine why."

"Very funny."

A crash was heard outside of Varric's private room. Voices rose in volume and became all too easy to hear in such an enclosed space. They both looked to each other and then at the door, sprinting for it.

"This your expected company, Blondie?" the rogue asked, brandishing his beloved Bianca.

Anders had his staff at ready. "I wouldn't doubt that, actually."

Once the pair arrived in the serving area of the tavern, they skidded to a halt near the door frame. A group of thugs stood in a circle in the center of the bar, surrounding someone. The men's voices were raised to a drunken volume as they pointed and yelled at whoever they encircled.

One of them—an imposing, yet clumsy man far past his tolerance limit—stepped closer to the person inside the mob's makeshift cage. "What in the hell do ya think you're doin', you stupid fool?" he slurred.

Whoever was imprisoned, they said nothing. Apparently, the drunken idiot didn't like the silent treatment and let out an aggravated cry. The other men back away as he took an awkward, blunderous swing at the hooded stranger. He missed his target and stumbled forward, falling flat on his face—much to the amusement of the other patrons.

The hairs on Ander's neck stood up; he immediately recognized the person under the disguise. "That's definitely her, Varric."

Varric glanced at him, then back to the drunken bar fight. "Someone I should know about?"

Anders nodded, and said, "Grey Warden-Commander Kiera Surana."

The dwarf's eyes widened in surprise. "You're serious? From Ferelden? Of Archdemon slaying fame?"

"Would I lie about something like this?"

"You wouldn't."

"Exactly," Anders said, motioning toward the scene before them. "Now watch."

One of the other men that had surrounded Kiera jumped back into the fray—literally. He'd missed the surmised Warden-Commander by a long shot. She stepped gracefully out of the way while the man collided directly into the set of chairs, before crashing into the table.

"Alright, you bastard!" A couple of the other men unsheathed their swords and pointed them at her. "Play time's over!"

They both dashed for the hooded Warden, but her only movement was the simple, calm lift of her arm. She pointed her hand toward them as a faint ball of light appeared in her palm. Both men seemed unthreatened by her menial display of power, however.

One of them had the gall to laugh. "You serious?!"

The other sneered. "Damned mages and their parlor tricks. I'll show you!" He ran toward her, blade pointed straight at her face.

The ball of light grew to at least twenty times its size and shot from her palm, creating a seemingly impenetrable shield. The man's eyes widened as his weapon bounced off the barrier and flew from his grasp, before finally embedding itself into the wall a few feet from where Anders and Varric stood. In the split-second it took to lower her shield, Kiera was on the ground, sweeping her assaulter with her legs and knocking him off balance. He stumbled and fell backwards onto his pathetic, drunken rear.

Even sober, the man would've been hard-pressed to take on the one who faced the Archdemon and lived to tell about it.

The Hanged Man was completely silent. Many a bystander's mouth hung open in bewilderment. The other men who had gathered to surround the Warden backed away and promptly ran out of the building, their tails between their legs.

"That was absolutely marvelous." Isabela stepped from her corner of the tavern by the counter, clapping. "About time someone showed those idiots the door—forcefully or not."

The rest of the patrons looked to each other, confusion soon replaced with awe as they joined the infamous raider in her praise of the mysterious stranger and her performance.

"Now that those pests are out of my hair," the Warden-Commander began, pulling back her hood. "Can someone tell me where a mage named Anders is?"

"Your man's over there." Isabela motioned to the door opposite of them. "But I can't say that I don't feel disappointed that you're here for him and not me."

"_Thank you_, Isabela," Anders said, walking over to them. "You can go back to your drinking and merrymaking now."

Isabela pouted, crossing her arms. "Oh Anders. You're absolutely no fun."

Kiera shook her head and turned to her fellow Warden. "Hello, Anders. Fancy meeting you here at this... cozy establishment."

"I figured it would be faster for you to find me if I hung around here—no pun intended, of course." He forced a smile.

"Right," Kiera said, looking around cautiously. "Is there any place more quiet we can go to talk? We can't afford any nosy ears eavesdropping on our conversation."

A few catcalls and whistles came from what was left of the patrons. Kiera rolled her eyes and shook her head irritatedly.

"Yeah, let's do that." Anders looked to Varric. "I'm going back to my clinic. Thanks for keeping me company, as short-lived as it was."

Varric nodded. "No problem, Blondie. Take it easy, would you? You've been looking more stressed than usual."

Anders waved at him dismissively. "Yeah, yeah..." He looked back to Kiera. "Shall we?"

The mage duo left the Hanged Man in a hurry. Kiera breathed a sigh of relief, thankful to be free of the stale stench of alcohol and underlying depravity. "Honestly, I can't stand the smell of those places."

"Understandable," Anders said, leading her through Lowtown and toward Darktown where his clinic was located. "But trust me on this: The Hanged Man smells heavenly compared to the place I've gotten myself holed up in."

Kiera wrinkled her nose. "Don't tell me you live in a sewer or something."

"Fine, I won't," he said, peering around a corner, making sure that there wasn't any potential trouble lurking around the alleyways.

"Gods, Anders. How can you stand it?"

"It's home, I suppose. Not like I have much of a choice." He glanced at her. "You know as much as anyone. Especially now."

She stayed silent, breathing a soft sigh of pity. _Anders... What have you gotten yourself into this time...?_

"This way." Anders motioned to a room offset from the rest of the clinic and held the door open. "We can talk here."

Kiera stepped through the doorway. He followed shortly behind, shutting the door once they were both safely inside.

They were finally alone.

She turned to look at him, anger setting into her features. "What in Andraste's name were you _thinking_, Anders? Do you have any idea just how much trouble you're in?!"

He knew exactly what she'd meant, but he remained silent anyway.

Kiera groaned in frustration, pushing him against the nearby wall, pinning him there; he didn't bother to resist. "You slaughtered a bunch of Wardens—a quarter of my regiment, to be exact—and murdered a group of templars along with them. Why would you do such a foolish thing?!" Her green eyes darkened and narrowed in anger as she glared up at him. "And most importantly, _how_?"

"Kiera, I..."

She released her grip on him and stepped back, confusion overtaking her anger. "I... I don't understand what's going on with you." Again, she felt like a fearful child, like back in the Circle. "There's something different about you. I can feel it, this energy—no, _power_—coming from you. It's... frightening."

Anders sighed, running his hand through his hair. "It's Justice. He's a friend," he said, knowing full well that his former commander could sense the one he'd merged with not-so long ago.

"A spirit?" Kiera shook her head in disbelief. "No... You're harboring a demon. Anders, how _could_ you?"

He swallowed, feeling Justice stir within him. "He offered to help." His form flickered, an eerie blue hue coloring his skin and golden eyes.

"Help with _what_?" she asked, clenching her fists in anger and disappointment. "Corrupting your soul? This goes against everything you've—"

"_Stupid woman!_"

Not more than a blink of an eye later, and Kiera found herself against the wall. Anders's body pressed her there with a strength that was anything but natural. Her eyes widened as an azure abyss gazed back at her, probing her, reaching into the very depths of her soul. She didn't struggle, just allowed herself to be held there under the scrutiny of something that used to be her close friend.

"_You __are__ a mage,_" Justice stated calmly. "_C__an you not empathize with __our__ cause? The templars __and the Circle __seek to destroy us, to cage us. __Surely you would__—_"

"Seek vengeance?" Kiera stared at him unblinkingly. "We'd be murderers driven by fear—just the same as them."

"_Being a mage__ should not be a crime._" Justice's grip tightened; Kiera didn't flinch. "_T__o be persecuted and hunted down for simply being born__—__that __stops by our hands, even if it means tearing apart every single templar in Thedas. The Circle ends with us!_"

"You've changed, Anders." She closed her eyes, remembering the young, frightened boy she'd met at Kinloch Hold. "I knew you held hatred in your heart, but I didn't think you'd allow it to corrupt you so. Both you and the demon, you are—"

"A monster."

Feeling Justice's grip release, she opened her eyes. Anders was on the floor, hands covering his face, knees on the floor in defeat. He felt ashamed, scared—scared that he had attacked someone he'd cared for, and that he had lost control so easily and quickly.

They stood in place for longer than either of them were able to tell. One minute, ten minutes—time seemed to drag on forever, painfully so.

"Anders..."

Kiera reached out to touch his shoulder, but the apostate pushed her away. She blinked, shocked that he would actually do such a thing; they may have grown apart over the years—circumstances and all that—but they were close growing up. Retracting her gesture, she knelt beside him and said nothing. Just listened—_felt_—his silent sobbing.

"I'm a monster, Kiera," he finally said, hands now at his side as he stared listlessly at the wooden floorboards. "An abomination. There's nothing left of me—the true me. I've been twisted, corrupted, and—"

"I was wrong." She placed her hands on both of his shoulders. "What's left of you—what you are, deep inside of you—is that same person that I confided in as a child. The same one that crept into my dorm far past curfew, that snuck the two of us out to our secret spot by the lake. Remember?"

"I'm no longer the same man as I was, let alone a boy."

"Anger, hatred, Justice... You will always be Anders—nothing will ever change that." She stood, feeling her hardened heart fracture at the sight before her. "But maybe one day, you will be able to break free of the ties that bind you."

He heard her walk away, light padding slowly disappearing across the room. By the time he'd managed the nerve to look up—to face her—she was already gone.

Anders stayed like that, staring into empty, lonely surroundings until the Hanged Man cleared out and the drunken revelry ceased for the morning. Until the blood stopped flowing to his legs and he could no longer feel them connected to his body.

Disconnection. That was precisely what he needed to do. Because what was left of him wasn't Justice, or even Vengeance.

It was Anders—_he_ was Anders—and nothing would ever change that.

* * *

Footsteps echoed throughout the empty, but lively clinic.

Anders continued writing at his desk, waiting for the inevitable arrival of someone familiar. The steps came closer until they stopped abruptly by the door to his office. He looked up just as Hawke knocked and poked her head inside the doorway.

"You're decent, I hope?"

Anders put on his best face, hoping that he'd be able to conceal the turmoil simmering inside of him. "If I weren't, I would've had the sense to lock the door before engaging in any unscrupulous activities."

Hawke laughed, giving the mage a sly grin. "At least I now know what you're up to during these long hours of the night." She pulled up a chair and sat. "What was it you wanted to discuss, by the way?"

Anders gathered a few pages from his pile of writings, and looked at Hawke, his features setting themselves into stone. As he explained why it was that he brought his friend of nearly a decade all of the way down to his hideaway in Darktown, a dark voice tugged at his thoughts and echoed in his head.

_There can be no peace._


End file.
